Killing Time
by LithiumDoll
Summary: A love story ... with a body count. (Vampire / Project Twilight) - NOW FINISHED
1. About The Girl

**Notes**: Lyrics from Guns 'N' Roses "Don't Damn Me"  
**Feedback**: Good or bad, 's all groovy :) 

_ Don't damn me  
When I speak a piece of my mind  
'Cause silence isn't golden  
When I'm holding it inside  
'Cause I've been where I have been  
An I've seen what I have seen _

"I knew she was crazy the first time I laid eyes on her. It was in some dank little techno nightclub in the south end, can't even remember the name. She was drawing men in with one hand and pushing them away with the other, laughing right in their faces like they were the funniest thing she'd ever seen. Laughing, always laughing, even when she danced like it was some personal war. A Barbie doll girl, with glitter in her hair and murder in her eyes. God she was beautiful." 

"I like to picture her like that. When she was happy and I was stupid. Clichéd as fuck isn't it? Looking back. But I don't have a helluva lot to do, do I? And of all the things I could think about before dawn, she's the best one." 

"Anyway, I got a clue what she was when she started eating people as she danced. Should've known really. But a bloodbath is a great icebreaker when you're trying to get it together with a girl. And all the screaming drowning out the music as she just started ripping through them was just amazing. I could have just watched her work and been happy, but some things just have to be done as a couple, you know what I mean? " 

Isaac paused for a moment, not really expecting an answer. He hadn't seen anyone for nights, hadn't been fed for a week. And when he had woken for the night he'd found himself in the "pit" as it was fairly unimaginatively called. He'd been threatened with it when he didn't give them what they wanted. Guess they figured he wasn't useful anymore. Four bare walls, one bare floor, one bare ceiling. The room to die in when you weren't even worth a bullet. Oh well ... 

"We were standing in the middle of the dance floor and there was nothing but the dead and dying left. I think I said some daft thing about getting the hell out and she just shook her head and kissed me. The sweetest little kiss, her blood, my blood, their blood. We slow danced to the last song and got some of the cops as we left. She wore one of the helmets all the way home. Still got it some place. Good times." 

Agent Woodman watched the thing talk to itself from behind the one-way mirror, eating stale donuts and barely registering the taste. He wondered whether he should bother recording this little ramble as he stretched in the only office chair. His legs were crossed loosely on the coffee table before him; it was too damn late to be observing office etiquette. Absently he ran a hand over his jaw, the stubble he had ignored for days was beginning to have delusions of beard-dom. 

Probably wasn't worth it. Sounded like it was talking about the other one they'd caught. She was already bagged and tagged. Nothing new there. 

Perfunctorily he turned his attention to the figure in the room, lying flat on it's back on the empty floor, talking to an apparently uncaring ceiling in a whimsical tone of voice. He looked like such a nice young lad. Sandy hair, a little long. Young, no more than twenty. Bit of a baby face really. The boy next door, you'd be happy for your daughter to date him. If he had a daughter, Woodman inserted on his train of thoughts, or in fact any kind of life outside this place. 

But that was what was so wrong. That something so evil could look like something so innocent. You could pass these freaks in the street and never look twice. It was enough to keep you at home behind crosses and garlic for the rest of your life. 

It got the rookies the most. Like they'd expected some half bat half demon instead of the everyday people they got a glimpse of through the cell doors. Half of them washed out after the first week, even with all the training. Just couldn't take it. Wanted to go back out and try and forget there were things out there that could literally eat you for breakfast. 

He wanted it to shut up. It was near death now. The other one had just crumpled in on itself in a day, why the hell was this one so bloody stubborn? Always talking. On and on and on. His hand hovered on the intercom switch, wanting to yell into that bare room for the thing to just die already. But he just closed his eyes and tried to ignore the ramblings, two more hours and his replacement on death-watch would be here. 

"So there we were in France, couple of years back. Good eating there, and don't let anyone tell you different. The garlic goes into the blood you see, absorbed right fast. Gives it this tang, ruins you for English take-out. She dragged me all over, said that she just had to see all the sights. She wanted me to steal a gargoyle for her at Notre Dame. See if it talked like in that Disney flick. We ended up just nicking a priest and going for a joy ride with him strapped to the bumper. It was her smile you see. You know when women have that smile? That's just for you? And you do the craziest things just to see it. Yeah, well, Holy Man dodgems was what did it that night. She kept his rosary and put what was left of his teeth where the beads were. Gave it me for Christmas. She was like that, did the sweetest things..." 

Isaac blinked dull eyes as another voice cut across his from the tanoy in the ceiling, hissed out words with the kind of restrained anger he often engendered in even the most even tempered of his pack-mates. 

"Will you just have the decency to die in peace?" 

This was going to be easier than he'd thought. "I can talk all night meat, and you can't do jack about it." 

Woodman gritted his teeth, bent over the microphone, the finger pressing the speak button white with the pressure for a moment, then released as he flung himself back into his chair. He wasn't meant to talk to the things. They were there to be forgotten and carted out when they stopped moving. He'd done a hundred death watches, seen them go down a hundred different ways. Some of them screamed, some of them spent hours throwing themselves at the walls like animals, some even had the grace to go easy. This was the first one that had decided to share about his girlfriend and for some reason it was making him angry. Like it had a right to talk, let alone to him. 

An hour and a half to go. 

"France got boring after a bit, so we went to Italy, she wanted to see if the Vatican was all that holy. Funny story - it really wasn't ..." 


	2. Lockdown

**Notes**: Lyrics from David Bowie's "Heroes"  
**Feedback**: Good or bad, 's all groovy :) 

_ I, I will be king  
And you, you will be queen  
Though nothing will drive them away  
We can beat them, just for one day  
We can be Heroes, just for one day _

Agent Merchant watched Woodman as he watched the vampire. The irony didn't escape her as she resisted the urge to check her own observation booth for cameras. Who was watching her? It was like some kind of farce. Work so high pressured everyone had to watch everyone else. Did that mean no one would go crazy here, or that they all would? Well, Woodman would be leading the way. 

She marked off the boxes on the form, leaving no mistake. The man was obviously cracking. Who wouldn't after five years, night in, day out. No family. No friends. No hobbies or even interesting little vices. Not even a cat for chrissake. Just some shoe box flat in St John's Wood with the curtains permanently drawn and pictures of a dead woman on every wall. It was depressing to have to do an investigation of a colleague in the first place, but that life was more depressing than most. He lived for the job and that was it. He had a month, tops. 

A flick of her manicured nails changed the view on the monitor, this time to Agent Anderson's little cubicle. 

"Hello Anderson, what are we doing tonight? Torturing small animals for fun and profit maybe? Or just a cup of tea and ... a good book" 

The zoom pixilated the picture, but she could just make out the title of his reading material in the midst of bad colour 

"Psychoville ... why am I not surprised" 

The monitor-green tinged man of her focus turned the page, grinning at something he read and oblivious to her running commentary. 

Another one with a flag on his file. A man who enjoyed his work just a little too much, bringing in more kills than captures, and kills were useless for research. Probably another one with a limited span, but he'd end up a drained husk in some alley no doubt. 

She watched him for a few more moments and noted down the title of the book. The Psych guys would want to know for their next appointment. She hadn't been asked to do an evaluation of his home habitat yet, but it was probably just a matter of time. Not a house call she was overly looking forward too. Her mind's eye saw the paintings of dead clowns on the walls already. 

A turn of a dial and back to Woodman as she sipped her cooling coffee, careful to keep it from making rings on the stacks of paper before her. 

His chair was empty. 

Merchant swallowed thickly and looked once more, willing him to have been in a non-existant blindspot. There was no one in that room. It was conceivable he'd gone for a bathroom break, and she'd have to report he left his post, but ... this was Woodman. Agent Eric "born with the book of regulations up his butt" Woodman. He wouldn't leave his post. The door was shut. The room was clear. She pushed the alert button and waited for all hell to break loose. 

Even inside her own double sealed room she could hear the security doors began slamming shut in quick succession. Hell, she could feel them shaking the floor as they did it. Little ripples appeared in her coffee with the thumping reverberating around the building. Half-foot thick steel doors, reinforced with concrete and titanium. No travel between floors without the code. No getting into the building. No getting out. If Woodman had just gone for a piss, he was in so much trouble it made her teeth hurt just to think about it. If he hadn't, they were all in trouble. 

Her com crackled for a moment before a tinny version of Commander Stoke's normally robust Irish brogue cut though, the message clear but so quiet she had to put her ear to the speaker. 

"Report, Agent Merchant" 

"Receiving one by five. Agent Woodman MIA as of between zero three eighteen and zero three twenty. No sign of disruption within his assigned observation room. Door closed." 

This time the volume near deafened her as all came through loud and clear "Remain at your station Agent Merchant. Floor clearance will begin shortly." 

"Five by five. Out" 

She sat back in her chair and stared at the silent com before her. Now she got to wait in this windowless box for the all clear to come. Marvellous. 

And then the com sparked into life once more, again the volume muted, the female voice speaking barely more than a whisper. 

"He gave me a policeman's hat the night we met. It still had a head in it. The eyes had gone a bit squidgy, but that was okay. We played football on the way home ... I think he let me win. He always does the sweetest things." 

The whisper died under the sudden screech of cross frequency communication, all departments checking in, trying to trace where the woman had signalled from and unable to get through to each other through the mess. Merchant wasn't surprised when the lights went down and took the radio babble with them. 

The emergency lights flickered on after a few seconds, bringing a sickly yellow taint to the already nicotene coloured walls. For a moment she studied her distorted reflection in the metallic counter top. Wide paniced eyes with the normal blue nearly black with fear. Not inspiring. Time to get it together. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, letting it out slowly. 

"Pull it together Sam. C'mon. C'mon-c'mon-c'mon. You have a gun. Get the gun. Nice gun. Happy gun. Move Sam..." 

When she opened her eyes again, the reflection was slightly less cowed. She gave herself a weak smile and began searching for the key to the gun draw and trying to ignore just how thin the observation room door felt. 


	3. Choices

**Notes**: Lyrics from Bon Jovi "100 Years"  
**Feedback**: Good or bad, 's all groovy :) 

_ I'll be standing here   
For the next 100 years   
If it all should end tonight   
I'll know it was worth the fight   
And we'll be standing here   
For the next 100 years _

Woodman's head snapped up as he heard the lockdown begin, a second later he started cursing under his breath. They'd been watching him and, in his anger, he hadn't even considered it. Goodbye career, hello officer. At least he could make it worth it. 

The vampire at his feet stared up at him; blissfully quiet, only the guarded eyes tracking his movements as he paced around the room. He would have liked to have put it down to his fearsome presence, but had to concede the broken off chair leg he'd rammed into its chest was probably the source of its silence. 

He was considering his next move. The door was solid; he could put the thing through a lot of pain before they got in. Something at the back of his mind, the rational spot in the sudden release of anger, told him this was wrong. But, somehow, he just couldn't bring himself to care. Then that whisper of a voice came over the speakers and he knew a court-martial was the least of his worries. 

Isaac felt the security doors slam down through the vibrations of the concrete floor. She was causing some havoc. The sound of her voice flooding the pit, even if only by electrical means, would have bought a smile to his lips. Except for one small detail. One pointy wooden detail, lodged between his third and fifth ribs if he had to guess; it ached like hell.. Now all he had to do was hope his girl got there before the stoned looking man above him snapped out of it. 

A sense of sudden balance filled Woodman's mind as the emergency lights came on, he could feel the numbness creeping over the anger and the healthy dose of fear at the situation he was in. He crossed back to the vampire and crouched at its side, looking at it with a clinical detachment as higher thought process gave way to a dreamy surrealism. He smiled and was rewarded with the first flinch of fear in the creature's eyes. 

"I want to tell you about a girl. I knew I loved her from the moment I laid eyes on her. She was dancing with the best man at a friends wedding. I just had to cut in ... she was beautiful you see. So full of life. I had to know her, touch her, hear her voice. Her name was Sara. We were married the next spring. It rained, but she just laughed and said ... she said it could never rain where we were. It rained the day I buried her too" 

The tone of voice was giving him the creeps, and he didn't creep easy. He was Sabbat for pity's sake, but this was the exact tone of voice he'd heard from the Priests, just before they'd broken his bones and declared him pariah. Uncaring and distracted, as if he were just a curious and annoying little insect to be forgotten or perhaps toyed with a while. But thirty years as a vampire had it's uses, and he met the human's eyes stonily, affecting boredom. And that empty smile on the well worn features came again. 

"It was my fault, I was working late. Too into my work, but she never complained. Every missed dinner, every forgotten anniversary, she understood. Said I was doing something important and she supported that. One in a million my girl. She didn't die easy; there was skin under her nails and blood on her teeth. But you still killed her." 

Woodman paused a moment, surveying the thing that was staring at him as if transfixed. Absently he wondered what he must look like to it. Not a young man, nowhere near the prime of his life. Greying at the temples, far too thin, a ragged and unshaven madman. Not an awe-inspiring sight, and yet it was watching him as if he were a cobra ready to strike. He gave a thin smile and continued. 

"Well, perhaps not you. Although I suppose it might have been. Was it you? Hmmm?" 

In one smooth motion, with that same lack of thought he'd given most his actions so far, he jerked the chair leg from the vampire's chest. He was on a roll of bad decisions, why stop now? Before it could twitch he had the thing by it's grimy collar, hauling it to it's feet and shaking it with a force he barely knew he possessed. But his words were a rattlesnake's hiss. 

"_Was it you_?" 

Isaac was almost relieved to be saved from answering the crazy man with the apparent death wish by the round of gunfire that came to life outside the door. With a morbid foreboding he suspected he would be re-evaluating his priorities later, but bullets flying had never sounded so good. He began to unobtrusively unpick the fingers clutching his shirt collar, hoping the agent's attention would remain riveted to the door long enough for him to put the bite on. 

There was shouting outside, running feet pounding and a scream that became a death cry, and then silence descended once more. Woodman thought he'd recognised at least one of the voices, a face swam in his mind, but he couldn't give it a name. A cocky young man, always volunteering for missions he had no training for, just to get in on a kill. He had no business being in that corridor, he was just a stupid kid. Then he became aware of something picking at his nerveless fingers and swung his head back around to look at the vampire frantically trying to free itself. 

A moment's pause and Isaac evaluated his options. He had barely enough blood to be mobile, let alone bolster his strength with, fuelling the few disciplines he had bothered to learn was right out. His earlier threats to come visit had been basic bluster, he hadn't actually expected to moron to take him up on it. So he gave what he hoped was a charming smile and tried his last defence, talking. 

"Look, she's after me. Now, let's face it, if she finds me - and she will find me - all dead she'll go spare. We're talking extreme language, violence, little bits of you and your friends decorating the building in itty bitty pieces. And it won't be quick, 'cause it sounds like she bought friends." 

Woodman frowned and bought the chair leg back up. 

"Ok! Getting to the quick of it! You keep the wood out of my heart and get me out of this cell. We go find the girl, touching reunion, me and her go on our way with minimal death." After a beat and the narrowing of Woodman's eyes he hurriedly went on. "No death in fact. Not even a light snack in intermission. We'll go be missionaries or something ... saving the whales in third world countries" 

He hated to hear the slightly pleading whine in his tone, but he couldn't help it. He wanted to live. He'd wanted to live as soon as he'd heard her voice and there wasn't a thing he could think of he wouldn't do to get to her. Even beg. 

"It wasn't us. That killed your girl I mean. Priests in the Vatican? Sure. But a housewife ... there's no challenge there. She likes a challenge." Now his patience for the blank look he was getting was starting to wear thin "Or, alternatively, you can finish me off and wait in here while she kills everyone. It's got an appeal, have to say. You could at least keep me alive for a bit, I do like to hear her work. And the longer you keep us in here, the more time she's got to play. Your choice man". 

------ 

TBC if worth it 


	4. Come Out To Play

**Notes**: Lyrics from Michael Jackson "Smooth Criminal"  
**Feedback**: Good or bad, 's all groovy :) 

_ There's a sign in the window  
That he struck you - a crescendo Annie  
He came into your apartment  
Left the bloodstains on the carpet  
Then you ran into the bedroom  
You were struck down  
It was your doom  
So, Annie are you ok? _

The gun felt reassuringly heavy in her hand, although it had taken longer to load than was comfortable and she still wasn't sure whether the safety was on or off. The two entire lessons she'd had in the Walther's use seemed far away and inter-spliced with memories of she and Kamiko from Accounting trying to stop giggling about the instructor's comb over hair. 

She muttered under her breath, keeping the same oddly comforting monologue with herself going, just for something to focus on besides the occasional far off scream "Well, that was stupid. And now you're going to do something even more stupid aren't you? You're going to go out there and see if anyone's alive. So you might as well get moving." 

The sound of gunfire down the corridor had been less than encouraging, and more than anything she wanted to curl up under the desk and wait it out. But she couldn't. There were monsters out there, and they were eating her co-workers. It was clear the floor clearance had not gone according to plan, so she forced herself towards the door and pausing with her hand on the bolt, listening intently for any sound beyond her own stilted breathing. Nothing. 

It took a moment to slide the deadbolt back but it was mercifully silent, as was the door when it opened inch by inch under her grudging push into the corridor. The acrid smell of gun smoke and blood was nauseating, bile climbed in her throat as she froze, closing her eyes, waiting to be attacked or the feeling to pass. Mentally she counted out the seconds, ten, then twenty passed, she opened her eyes and stepped into the dimly lit passageway, trying not the breath. Someone, or maybe something, was whimpering so softly she barely heard it. With the gun feeling lighter in her sweat-slicked palm, she headed towards the sound, trying to ignore the bloody handprints on the walls. 

There was a pile of bodies, methodically stacked into a pyramid, dressed in the light armoured gear that signified a clean-up team. In the dimness of the hall, what should have been red pools on the floor was mercifully black. That made it easier to approach somehow. The whimpering was coming from within the middle of the heap and her mouth took over as her mind cut out, her brain idly watching as she put the gun on the floor and began pulling back the remains of their would-be saviours. 

"It's okay, it's okay. I'm gonna get you out. It'll be okay. I have a gun. I'm not sure if it works or anything, but it's still a gun. And that's good, right? I mean, its not a flamethrower ... maybe I can write a memo about having emergency flamethrowers. That'd work ..." 

An arm came loose without it's body following, just pale and lax like so much butchers meat in her hands. The nails looked like they were chewed to the quick. The owner was a nervous man ... the Psych boys would like to know ... there was a thick gold ring on the fourth finger. She threw up without warning, retching until there was nothing more and dry heaving until she thought her ribs would break. As her harsh pants quietened, she realised the whimpering had stopped. 

With renewed urgency she pulled at the bodies once more, her voice sounding far away as she gabbled 

"Have you out in a minute. Just a minute. It's gonna be okay." 

At last she found him, at the very bottom of the pile, the suit amongst the soldiers. The man was lying on his front, blond hair turned crimson. She couldn't tell if it was his blood, or the blood of those above him. Desperately she checked for a pulse at his neck, feeling a thready, pathetic thing after a few seconds. A breath she didn't know she had been holding rushed out as she turned him as gently as possible. 

"Anderson?" 

The door behind her crashed open and without thinking she dove for her gun, snatching it up and rolling to point it at whatever had come through, finding herself staring up the barrel of an assault shotgun. Her finger tightened on the trigger of the Walther before she even noticed who it was. 

Woodman saw the woman move and had only enough time to bring the shotgun up, the sound of the trigger being pulled crashed in his ears and he froze. When he felt no immediate need to fall over and add to the bodies on the floor he spoke in what he hoped was a calm tone. 

"Safety's on" 

She let her arm fall back to her side and pulled herself up from her sprawl in the floor. Woodman turned his attention from her to the strewn bodies around them, then back. He continued speaking in what she felt was an unreasonably even tone. 

"You ok?" 

After blinking at him a few times she finally succumbed to the laughter his words provoked. Tears poured down her face as she giggled, staring at the black streaked floor. 

"Let's see ... I've just spent the last five minutes digging through spare parts of colleague to find Agent Anderson ... thrown up only once ... and nearly shot you." Her last words came out a gasp as oxygen became an issue. "Fine, I'm fine. I think I'll take this up as a hobby. Macramé, sweater knitting and playing hide and seek with vampires. " 

His slap wasn't gentle, she raised her hand slowly to the skin of her cheekbone, feeling the heat and stinging pain. Wonderful, and now he'd think she was some weak little girl. Anger. There came the anger, she stood and revelled in it as it pushed away the fear at last. 

"Thanks. Hope I can return the favour some time." 

A low and amused whistle came from behind Woodman. A figure was leaning in the doorframe; it was too dark to see much more than an outline. She startled to raise her pistol again, but Woodman gave a slight shake of his head and knelt besides Anderson as the whistler spoke. 

"Told you my girl likes to play. And if you think this is bad, you better hope we find her quick. Just other night she was saying..." 

Finally she realised who this was as Woodman's shoulders tensed angrily and the other's voice died away uncertainly. It hadn't moved into the light yet, withdrawing back into the room a little as the agent brushed past her and took it by the scruff of the neck. 

"Let's get some ground rules down vampire. You don't talk. You don't whistle. You don't smile. You especially don't show any artistic appreciation." 

Woodman watched it's attention go very nearly involuntarily to the still cooling bodies, it licked it's lips and the naked hunger in it's eyes was unmistakable. He shook it harder, the thing weighed hardly anything. 

"You do NOT snack" 

Isaac dragged his eyes away from the intoxicating scent of blood and nodded, making a mental note to ensure that this one's head was left intact. They could use it as a hood ornament for a while, or just stick it on the mantle. Or … he lost his pleasant train of thought as the woman spoke 

"Anderson doesn't look good. He's lost some blood, but I don't think that's the problem." 

She lifted his shirt and winced as her theory was confirmed, a dark bruise the size of her hand on his sternum. The guy was bleeding internally. A choked moan signalled he was also starting to come around. Her thoughts raced along, at last having something she could think about besides the equal parts of terror, and more terror. 

"I don't know what you ... two ... came out for, but I'm going to get this man to the med room. You're going to help me." 

Sam stood ready to shout, wanting to shout, and unaccountably annoyed when Woodman just nodded again, propelling the vampire ahead of him as he stepped forward. 

"We'll carry him. You take point. I don't know this part of the building that well " He paused and looked fully at her with perhaps the faintest hint of dark humour in his expression as he handed over the shotgun. "The safety's off this one." 

It occurred to her she didn't know it either. Every other floor had a med room by regulations; hopefully this was the "other" floor. Then she focussed on something white, glinting under the matt blood covering most of it. Bending to retrieve it, she realised two things as her subconscious started to scream. 

It was the swipe card the security teams used to get between floors. Each team carried one, and it was right here. That meant whatever had killed them was... 

"Hey baby ... we're here." 

Isaac laughed. 


	5. The Game

**Notes**: Lyrics from Michael Jackson "Smooth Criminal"  
**Feedback**: Good or bad, 's all groovy :) 

_ It's all about the game and how you play it  
It's all about control and if you can take it  
It's all about your debt and if you can pay it  
It's all about the pain and who's gonna make it _

Her voice filled the corridor, soft and nearly child like, dripping with a suffocating sweetness that crept into the mind and held it like a fly in flawed amber. 

"You can stop laughing baby ..." 

Isaac's laughter died abruptly. He recognised the faces of some of the ones behind his girl now, the pack he'd thought they'd left behind. Really left behind, what with the fire he'd lit and everything. And she was smiling that smile, only it wasn't at him. He couldn't remember the name of the guy at her shoulder. Mick? Mark? Mulch? 

"You got us caught. Getting your girlfriend dissected can really hurt a relationship sweetheart. I had to get away all on my own. But then I found Marty ... and he said we should waste this place and go home. But, see, the only way I get to come back to the Pack is if you're not there. You understand, right baby? It's separation time." 

He could imagine just what kind of separation she had in mind, he'd be lucky if it was just his head from his shoulders. And the stupid humans were just standing there staring instead of doing something constructive, like forming a first line of defense so he could escape. Except he wouldn't get five feet in this state. 

Woodman nearly lost his footing as the arm of Anderson he was supporting was tugged away. It snapped the spell of her voice, an almost physical sensation of release from the confining fog. He snarled, getting a firmer grip and yelling as he followed after the vampire attempting to run and carry most of Anderson. 

"Merchant!" 

Merchant backed up a pace, watching as the monsters began to slink forward. Then she pulled the trigger of the shotgun and watched as the shadowed figures at the end of the corridor dissolved into a black mist. Someone was shouting, but it sounded far away. Idly she pulled the trigger again, floor level this time, and then fingers were on her oddly numb shoulder, dragging her into a faltering run. 

The first door they came to opened under Isaac's shove and he fell into the darkness of the room, nearly tripping over Anderson as he dropped him and was then barrelled into by one of the agents. At least, he hoped it was one of the agents, the alternative would be not necessarily short, but definitely painful. He turned to see a slender shadow toting a big fucking gun slam the door shut, then closed his eyes as harsh light flooded the room. 

They stood blinking at each other for a moment, then Anderson groaned. Merchant snapped out of it first, placing the shotgun by the door well a calm deliberation of movement that suggested she would be snapping like a dried sparrow bone any moment. But she crossed silently to the whimpering figure and tried to sound confident as Woodman just stood and glared at the surprisingly silent vampire. 

"It's okay Anderson, a little detour. You're gonna be fine" She searched for a moment for something to tell him, anything, just keep talking and everything will be fine. He focussed on her blearily for a moment through the blood and sweat drenched strands of hair covering his eyes. "Hey, you have a book to finish. So hang on in there, it looked good, you've got to tell me what happens and ..." her words peetered out as his eyes glazed and eyelids dropped, falling unconscious once more. 

Woodman finally found the words he had been searching for, addressing the thing standing before him with a flat, even tone. 

"Well, it seems safe to assume the idea of swapping you for our lives has met it's end. Can you tell me why you're still here?" 

Isaac failed to meet his eyes, looking around the small office instead. There was nothing much there, filing cabinets, a couple of monitors and very little in the way of inspiration for saving his life. 

"Because .. because I know my girl. She likes to play, remember? That's why she hasn't knocked that door down yet. It's the chase that's all the fun, cat and mouse." Inspiration finally struck and he grinned with the knowledge. "I can show you how to keep the game interesting enough to give us a chance to get out of this corner of hell" 

Merchant smirked and leant back against the office table, crossing her arms and trying to ignore the way her hands stuck to the material of the suit jacket. 

"You don't think that maybe getting shot by very big bullets might have had something to do with it?" 

Isaac tilted his head and looked at the woman with the quizzical expression of one who's just seen a house pet talk. For her benefit, he talked slowly and used small words. 

"Nooo ... I think getting shot by very big bullets has just pissed her off" 

When neither agent appeared to understand he looked between them. "You just don't get it, do you meatbags? You. Put. Her. In. A. Cage" 

Sod the lack of blood, he extended his canines and bought his lips back in a feral snarl, eyes glowing a dull red, voice gutteral and belonging in the shadows of nightmare when he spoke again "Do we looks like things you can put in a fucking cage? Run experiments on? _Starve_? And expect not to kill you?" 

He wanted to tell them it was their fault she hated him now, tear into them to make them understand how they'd suddenly made his existance more painful in one moment than it had been in the last month. But that would be giving them too much. And besides, he really didn't love his chances against the shotgun Woodman was standing so casually near. 

Stiil, something must have gotten through. Neither moved, but there was the fear. It did his heart good to see it as he allowed the veneer of humanity to drop over him again, shrugging it on like a comfortable jacket. He smiled pleasantly at both, then looked appraisingly at the one on the floor. He could hear it's pulse faltering, ebbing and struggling, the rush of the blood as it tried to hard so feed it's host. The guy had an hour, maybe two. 

"Look, you need someone who can go hand to hand with the ones outside if we run into them close up and personal ... and he's ..." 

"Don't even think about it" Woodman eyed the room, then back to the creature. "We don't need you that much. She likes to play? What's her game?" 

"Fox and Hounds" When Woodman just stared at him, he elaborated grudgingly, consolling himself with the thought of the two heads that were now going to adorn his mantle piece. Woodman and Merchant would make lovely ornaments. It was near christmas, intestines looked quite striking on a tree. Anyone's tree. He could be generous and decorate some family's ... "If we try and head straight for the exit, she'll just kill us. But if we give her the run around, she'll follow and herd until we're boxed in and scared shitless. But you know this building better, I'm guessing. Maybe she can follow us to someplace nasty?" 

Woodman looked over at Merchant, she was smiling slightly as she made eye contact, speaking after a moment's reflection. There was only one place they could both be thinking of. 

"It's two floors down ..." 

"Which means they've already come that way. We might be able to stop them going all the way to the top" 

"Will they fall for it though?" 

Isaac liked to think he had patience. Well, maybe not patience. Actually, no patience at all, and the over his head conversation was wearing thin. 

"Where the hell are we going?" 

The both looked at him with identical humourless smiles, speaking in unison. 

"You'll see" 

Great, he'd fallen in with Mr and Ms Of-The-Fucking-Borg 


	6. The Chase

**Notes**: Lyrics from Linkin Park "In The End"  
**Feedback**: Good or bad, 's all groovy :) 

_ Time is a valuable thing  
Watch it fly by as the pendulum swings  
Watch it count down to the end of the day  
It ticks life away _

Merchant walked as softly as she could, trying to keep from jumping at every flicker in the dark shadows they passed. The corridors were uniform and endless in their uniformity. Anderson had long since stopped whimpering as the vampire and Woodman carried him slung awkwardly between them, now the loudest sound was his feet as they scraped over the short office carpet, shuddering and dry. There were no bodies, she was thankful for that, but the grey of the flooring was tinged black in long trails as if a victim had been moved for later. 

Under her finger the trigger was slick with her sweat, she switched her hold to wipe her hand down on her grimy suit jacket, succeeding only in covering her hand with the drying flakes of Anderson's blood. It made sense for her to take the point and lead and there was a security in not being the last in the line. But being the first wasn't exactly her idea of a picnic either. As they reached the blue emergency lit door to the stairs she looked back, unnerved to see Isaac's too bright eyes staring at her. 

"What ... " Her own voice sounded too high pitched, too thready and fearful. She tried again, adding a touch of Woodman's patented growl. " ... What are you looking at?" Better. 

In contrast Isaac's reply was carelessly offhand as he manoeuvred Anderson's arm more firmly over his shoulder. "I was wondering what you taste like. You drink a lot of coffee? I could use a kick ... " 

A sharp smack up side the head from Woodman silence him, but the unblinking gaze didn't waver, though it did slowly move down a few inches to hover over her jugular, she could nearly feel the weight of it alone pricking the skin. 

"Quit it!" 

"What?" 

"You're _staring_ at my _neck_

"Oh, yeah, right. Like I don't have better things to do than look at you? Get off the ego train meat bag, your neck's not that great" 

"I have a wonderful neck! I moisturise! You wish you had neck this good!" 

"Children ..." 

The last was from Woodman, looking at the two of them now standing nearly nose-to-nose. What had started as a hissed and quiet exchange had become a full blown yelling contest she realised, as the last of their words echoed away into the darkness. 

Drawing back she nodded, subduing her tone and trying to regain mastery over the hysteria that was swimming so close to the surface. "Sorry." 

"Apology accepted" Isaac's tone was heavy with smug amusement, she grit her teeth against the retort that her apology had not been for him and felt the anger rushing back to cover the fear once more. With a snarl twisting her lips she carded the door and yanked it open, stepping in and taking a knee to present the smallest target as she traced the gun up and down. Nothing. Just the pale yellow lights glinting off the linoleum covered stairs. 

She exhaled and glanced back as she stood. "We're all clear in here, c'mon." 

  
Anderson hadn't regained consciousness yet, but Woodman could feel the pulse in the man's neck fluttering weak and off beat, struggling to show the heart moved still but growing less obvious with every appearance. He couldn't let him die, that was the one thing his mind was clinging to. Stupid, unlikely, a vainer hope than any of those uninjured making it out alive. And still he clung to it, lived for it, and refused just to wait for the end to come ... for a dying man he barely knew. 

If they made it out, he'd thank Anderson for that. Hell, if they made it to the second floor, he'd thank him. All the way out to see the dawn and he was sending him a dozen roses once a month for a year. 

Merchant was just a vague outline before them, always about ten feet ahead, the gun gripped with more of an assurance than before. It was like she'd reached some kind of Zen calm after entering the stairwell, and he didn't know whether to be worried about that or pleased. Either she was remembering her training, or she was going into shock. Maybe a bit of both. And she was the only one with a loaded gun. Make that two dozen red roses a month for life. 

The outline stopped and held up a hand, they were on the third floor and before them the door into the offices there swung off it's hinges, the end of it fading into the pitch black of a complete powerout. Stillness held for a moment until the only sound was the wheezing struggle of each of Anderson's wet sounding breaths. 

Step by step they inched past the open door, even Isaac keeping his mouth shut for once. It seemed the darkness was a living thing, just waiting for them to look away before it struck. Down the stairs, trying to ignore the prickling at the back of his neck, just concentrating on that one step more. It was almost a surprise when he ran out of steps and glanced up towards the exit door for the floor they had been aiming for. 

Merchant was at the door, gun held negligently over one arm as she tried the swipe card. Once. Twice. A muttered curse and she turned, whispering so quietly it was barely more than a exhale of breath. 

"It's not working. We're going to have to go around the other side of the building." 

No one spoke. There was nothing to say, except perhaps mention of a rosebush, once a week, as long as he and his offspring did live. They just turned and the stairs up once more gained his attention as he averted eyes to them, letting Merchant brush past into the lead. 

Then the child-like singing began, slightly off key but light and sweet. The lyrics he couldn't quite make out, and the tune seemed to skip and jump from one nursery rhyme to the next as it drew closer out of the darkness. So entrancing, so beautiful, so ... 

He grabbed at the wall to keep from falling as Isaac dropped his share of the load and began to run back down the stairs away from the voice that suddenly sung a more chilling song. 

Humming raggedly under his breath in desperation to try and block out that mind sedating voice, he pulled the dead weight of Anderson into a fireman's carry and staggered at the run up the few remaining steps. Was it his imagination showing a pale hand reaching out of the darkness? Was that a form beginning to take shape? Almost bodily he grabbed the listless Merchant around the waist and lifted, adrenaline giving him the strength to turn follow in Isaac's wake with a load that would have sent him to the floor any other time. 

Only laughter followed as he ran, he felt icy fingers tighten around his arm and almost jerked forward before he realised they were Merchant's. He dropped her and they ran on, down the stairs, the door once more in sight. Isaac was before it, both hands planted flat against it and feet braced back. 

Over his gasps and the pounding of their feet, he could hear the tortured sound of metal and wood screaming against each other as they were pushed beyond breaking point. With what seemed like one last heave, the vampire threw himself at the metal door. It buckled, and it fell, and the vampire followed it down to sprawl completely still. The stream of light from the white tiled room beyond reflected off his skin making it near translucent, every vein seemed traced in pale red as the skin tightened. 

Merchant was through the door first, jumping over Isaac and running to the bank of still flashing lights on the control panel of the small observation room. It seemed too bright, surgical almost. Everything flashed in a blinding way as he lowered Anderson to the floor as gently as he could then turned and dragged Isaac's near weightless form across the thresh-hold. 

Running was sounding in the corridor now, fox and hounds; he looked up to see their hunters speeding towards them and roared to Merchant, "Hit it!!" 

  
=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=- 

Last chapter up soon ... hopefully :) 


	7. Sanctuary

**Notes**: Lyrics from Killing Time, The Tragically Hip  
**Feedback**: Good or bad, 's all groovy :) Ok, I'm a review slut, I admit it. ::hangs head:: You think there's a 12 Step Program? 

_ I know your heart is bad  
But it's all I've ever had  
We can live our lives  
On this righteous crime.  
_

Her palm slammed down on the final button in the sequence at Woodman's yell. The lights on the panel flashed once and the wall at the back of the room began to slide up with a smooth electrical whirring and the whisper of metal against metal. 

Swords crossing can make that sound, or a guillotine's rush. 

Or the only panel between an observation booth and a holding room flooded with ultraviolet light. 

In the doorway the vampires hesitated as the room brightened before them, throwing everything into a stark relief of black and white, the shadows long but clean. It wasn't daylight, but it would do. Merchant wanted to say something profound, or witty as the man made sunlight washed over them all, but she settled for a wide grin when they began to scream. 

The room filled quickly with the stench of burning, as the hunters suddenly began falling over each other to reach the safety of the corridor. To her disappointment, Isaac's ex was first out, but the last was the one called Marty. His back caught fire like it had been drenched in petrol, licking at his hair for a moment then engulfing the back of him entirely. Not one of those hissing in the shadows made a move to help him as he staggered and almost seemed to collapse in on himself. The fire breaking parchment orange skin apart from within and consuming him whole. 

At last it was still. The flames licked at ash and bone, dying little by little as she watched. She had to admit she knew next to nothing about vampires compared to Woodman or even Anderson, but she knew the quicker they dusted, the older they were. This one had been old. 

Silence held for a long moment, the monsters held at bay and the only backdrop her own harsh breathing and the rattling of Anderson. Almost on auto-pilot Merchant moved her eyes, and her eyes only, keeping them in her peripheral vision no matter whether they would brave the artificial day or not. Woodman was crouched over Anderson, but his gaze was on the door. It seemed distant almost, clinical. He wasn't smiling. Beyond him was a heap in shadow she assumed was Isaac. 

"Clever little cows." 

The crooning in the voice was almost sing song, the girl stepped up to the very edge of the thin barrier separating the two, snapping Merchant's attention to her. Thin hands where held up as if they could feel the invisible wall, stroking it nearly lovingly with a smile as her eyes fixed and held to the only other female. 

"But it won't work for long. Just gotta find where the light gets made and then ..." 

Her hands formed a fist and then flicked apart just as quickly with her next words. 

"Poof ... all gone. I think I'll have you first ... and then the men. Or, maybe the men first and then you. Isaac would be a cherry on top. A girl's got to watch her figure, but he's such a sweetie ... couldn't you just eat him up? " 

Merchant could only shake her head in response as Woodman's voice cut across the other's almost sweetly conversational tone with a darkly sardonic one. 

"Sure, you can find the power generator, in fact I'll just tell you just where it is, shall I?" 

His head nodded back towards the holding room with it's cabinets upon cabinets in endless rows holding the bloodless bodies of the vampires considerate enough to be filed neatly away rather than massacring half the Project operatives. 

"In there. Right at the end. Can't miss it. Bloody great thing, makes one hell of a racket. You can probably hear it." 

He studied them for a considering moment, then shook his head with a curl of his lip. 

"So, you have to go in there, get past the security cage and then shut it down. Without ending up like your friend there. You know, I just don't like your chances. But ... please ... try it. There's an hour left on my shift, and I could really use a laugh." 

Merchant felt herself begin to grin again. And then she bought the pistol up and pulled the trigger, enjoying seeing the girl's expression of anger turn to shock in that brief moment before the back of her head blew out and she fell back into the figures behind her. It probably wouldn't do much good, but the element of satisfaction was worth it. Maybe that was what made Anderson tick. There was the sound of scuffling, fast moving feet. And the corridor was deserted. 

With an effort of will she turned her back to the door and joined Merchant kneeling beside Anderson. The man didn't look good. A sheen of cold sweat covered his skin and his lips had gained a tinge of blue. Even if they were in a hospital now she wouldn't expect him to survive. From his expression Woodman knew it too. 

She spoke in a whisper, as she would in a church. The observation booth was sanctuary, and with sanctuary came sanctity. 

"What do you think they'll do?" 

Woodman replied just as quietly, not taking his attention from Anderson. As if he could keep the man breathing through sheer force of will. Maybe he could. 

"If they've got any sense they'll be trying to break out of here. They don't have long till the sun comes up now." 

"Do you think they have any sense?" 

"Nope" 

Her silence was her agreement. The ones following the ex from hell might well try and make it out, but she wouldn't. Keeping her fingers idly stroking Anderson's damp hair away from his face, Merchant looked at Isaac's crumpled form. He still hadn't moved from where he'd been flung, his skin was tightened over every dead vein. Her eyes narrowed just a touch and she glanced at Woodman who simply nodded a confirmation to her unvoiced suspicions. He was looking like, well, death. But not _that_ much like death. 

"Nice try fang boy, but you're not out." 

Isaac cracked an eye open, at least having the grace not to play possum any longer and giving a distorted "Fuck off." 

His head hurt. His everything hurt. Most of all, he was hungry. His teeth had sharpened and were cutting into his lips but drawing little blood. He couldn't even retract them. If he'd had the option to actually be out he might have seriously been considering it. And when he'd fallen through the door, he'd really thought he would be. 

Tentatively Isaac attempted to sit up, ignoring the woman's eyes on him but unable to block out the delicious smell of the blood on the dying man. His patch of shadow didn't extend to the food lying so tantalizingly close, even if he could have been fast enough to snack and run. Which he really, really doubted. Not with "Miss Trigger Happy 2002 Of The Borg" so close anyway. 

She was still looking at him. 

Then it occurred to him he was still alive. Well, he hated to remind them he shouldn't be at this point, but if he didn't get something to eat soon their reminder would be much nastier and clawing at their throats. Not healthy for them, less healthy for him. Of his chosen ways to die, ignominiously at the hands of a bitch with a big gun really wasn't high on the list. To be fair, it actually wasn't that low down either. 

The truth was a radical approach, but it might just work. Still, how to start was the problem. 'I'm hungry and if I don't eat your friend I'll attack you and I don't want to get shot.' probably wouldn't go down well. Less truth than that then. With a concerted effort he at last retracted his teeth and coughed, speaking as politely as he could muster. 

"I need to eat your friend..." 

He paused and mentally replayed his words in the silence that followed, then hastily followed up. 

"... a bit!" 

That could probably have gone better. 

Merchant was still just looking at him, she smirked and shook her head as she replied. She wasn't even thinking of him as a threat anymore. Bitch. 

"I know bleeding the sick used to be a big thing. But we've moved on from that, and you're too big and too slimy to be a leech." 

The growl started low in his throat despite his best attempts against it, the room took on a ruddy hue beyond eyes he knew were beginning to flicker red. He closed them. Inside the Beast screamed for the release he had never before denied it, the hunger crawling up his throat and into the snarl that wouldn't be contained. Gun. Remember the gun. Remember you are the nastiest piece of work in the city. Remember you were once a Paladin. Remember the girl with laughter on her lips and murder in her eyes. Remember she needs you. Remember you are not an animal. Remember. 

When he opened his eyes again they were looking down the barrel of the gun. On the plus side, the red haze was gone. Yay him. 

"Fuck." 

And then the stream of UV snapped away, along with the hum of the generator and the crackle of automatic gunfire. 

"Fuck" 

=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= Right, so the _next_ one is the last chapter.... honest. 


	8. Forced Destiny

_Staring through purgatory   
I choose my eternity  
But when I got there I saw  
That I had no choice at all   
Forced Destiny   
It's killing time   
It's time to die _  


"You just had to tell them where the generator was didn't you? Like some fucking Bond villain, you dozy excuse for a ... " 

Isaac's tirade towards Woodman died before it had even had the chance to warm up, fading into silence in the face of the man's expression. He was smiling. Why the hell was he smiling? This couldn't be good. In his, granted, limited experience smiles like that on a blood bag meant one thing. They weren't scared anymore. They knew death was coming, and it didn't matter what the hell they did. Those were the ones that sometimes got away. Just that thin-lipped little smile had meant a sudden end for more than one over confident lick. He upgraded his 'not good' to 'how does the Our Father go again?' when the smile widened, just a touch. 

But the man didn't move from his death-side vigil over Anderson, it was Merchant who calmly eased herself up from her knees, taking a moment to smooth her crumpled and multi-stained skirt down. 

"Do you think they've had enough time to get curious yet?" 

Woodman mulled this over, tilting his head towards the window like he could hear some kind of countdown. "... Yeah. About now should do it. Have a quick look, then hit the switch." 

Merchant squinted through the plexi-glass separating the observation room from the massive filing area. It looked like most of the vampires where now in the room, although grouped together they had become one patch of shadowed solid mass in the darkness and a head count was impossible. 

The generator was still sparking pathetically from where it had been shot by what sounded suspiciously like the standard Uzi's that the Security Teams carried. Past tense. Very past tense. 

Unknowingly matching Woodman's expression, she flipped the bank of switches before her. The first flick of a switch bought the metal containment door down on the cavernous room the monsters were investigating. She could almost feel the force of it slamming to the ground through her feet, despite the distance. The second opened the small vents in the ceiling of the storage area, allowing the gas behind them to silently begin to pour into the stale air. The third allowed her to speak to them. The rulebook said that was against the rules. You don't engage the monsters in conversation. Fuck the rulebook. 

With a tone the mimic of all the very most insincere, saccharine sweet, hostesses or tour guides she had ever met, she spoke. 

"Good evening ladies and gentleman, welcome to your final step of the tour of our facility." 

Without turning she felt Woodman move up besides her, out of her peripheral vision saw him lean his hands on the surface before them and watch as the vampires scurried below trying to claw their way out, shooting uselessly at the door and bullet proof windows high above them. 

She watched the dial, the tanks emptying hydrogen into the killing field through the glass were very nearly expended and her hand hovered over the last switch without a tremor. But a strangled wheeze behind her made her turn. 

Isaac was standing, Anderson pulled up before him with fresh blood pouring down his neck and eyes wide open and frantic. Around his mouth was a fresh, wet, ring of red that his tongue instinctively sought out even with the dawning horror in his expression. 

He was alive. He was better than alive. He was healed. Anderson tried to concentrate on the wonderfully pain free breaths he was taking rather than the coppery, sweet, tang in his mouth and flooding his senses. It was great. Everything was great. Except for the vampire using him as a human shield while it, almost painstakingly, sealed the wound it had created with it's tongue. It's _tongue_. Somehow worse than the teeth. It was only when he realised his train of thought had moved to tetanus shots and rabies that he considered he might, perhaps, have been in shock. 

From the wide-eyed expression of the woman before him, he wasn't the only one. The gun she was pointing unwaveringly at his head was a little off-putting though. He was about to say something intelligent, just as soon as his brain decided on the merits between 'Don't shoot!' and 'Woman pretty. Gun bad', when the slightly hoarse voice he had only been dimly aware of before hissed from behind him. 

"Is that how you say thank you? Remind me not to send you a Christmas card ..." 

"What did you do to him?" Her voice was flat and her eyes were hard. 

"We have the blood, we can rebuild him." He smirked, trying to keep as much of himself hidden behind the still near dead weight of the man as he could. "Stronger, faster ... _better_." 

He could see her finger tightening on the trigger. 

"Look! He's still breathing! He's not changed .. he's just not dying anymore." 

Her voice slowed, each word clipped and harsh, her knuckle on the trigger whitened and straining not to complete it's inward path. Waiting, just waiting for Isaac to show enough to make a target. 

"_What. Did. You. Do. To. Him_?" 

"I took his blood and then I gave it back to him the good way. And if you don't put the canon down, I will snap his neck, tear his fucking head off and leave you standing in the red." 

Well, he thought it sounded like a reasonable enough threat. Unfortunately, so did Anderson. The elbow in his chest came hard; he felt ribs crack under the human's borrowed strength. And then he discovered what being on the business end of a Hanegosh Judo throw felt like first hand. Interesting. Bastard. 

Isaac stared up at the two agents standing over him as he lay on his back, catching a breath he didn't have. One still trying to get the last traces of his blood from his mouth, the other smiling as she pulled the trigger. He closed his eyes and thought about the girl. 

Woodman was only barely aware of the commotion behind him, his attention riveted on the room beyond, trying desperately to ensure all the monsters were where they should be. But it was impossible to tell, and the constant barrage of bullets on the window separating them was starting to weaken the glass. Tiny hairline fractures were appearing, running along the partition like a ladder in his wife's stockings. She'd used nail polish to fix them; a snap shot in his mind of her grin when she only had the red she loved so much instead of the invisible clear. She'd used the red and called it a new fashion trend. He doubted nail polish would help here. They were out of time. 

He flipped the last switch. 

They were past out of time and into sudden death. The hydrogen became a near tornado of fire, too colossal to be called a fireball. The oxygen in the enclosed holding room gone in an instant. He heard the window cracking against the vacuum, knew in a split second it could not hold. And then it shattered out into the void, calling the back draft of rushing flame down on the observation room like the will of a vengeful God. 

He could do nothing for Merchant as he heard her scream, or Anderson as the man's cry weakened with distance. As though he had been flung far away, the splintering of the wooden door behind them suggested he probably had. All Woodman could do was draw himself into a ball under the melting desk. 

The roaring seemed to go on forever, but there was precious little in the mostly metal built area for the fire to feed on. Something cold brushed over his hands, clasped tightly over his head. Tentatively he raised his eyes. The smell of burning with thick in the air, too heavy for the thin wisps of smoke drifting over their battleground, he couldn't quite convince his mind to pursue the source of it. Really, who cared? 

Everything that wasn't nailed down had been thrown back by the concussive weight of the blast. It took him a moment to realise the coolness he felt was the sprinklers kicking in half-heartedly. He was suddenly so tired. He didn't want to look to see if the others were alive. He wanted to sit and wait for dawn. It wasn't much to ask. 

Then there was a moan. Dull eyed he half walked half staggered towards it, trying to force muscles that were mutinous into obeying him for just a little longer. Almost absently he patted down the part of his shirt still optimistically attempting to burn. 

Merchant was on her side. Nothing burning, her leg at a bad angle and the white of the bone showing under a steady pulse of escaped blood. Her eyes were open but glazed, not feeling the pain yet. Maybe not even aware she was alive. Her eyes steadily began to blink against the damp strands of hair falling into them, he brushed the hair away and was rewarded with her gaze tracking his fingers. Her mouth moved but nothing came out, so he filled the silence quietly, his voice sounding dull and oddly distorted to his ears. 

"Your leg's had a bit of a knock. Lie quiet and I'll get it set in a second. Just gotta go check on Anderson. Maybe stake him. Did he look like he had fangs or anything? Tendency to start mouthing off about a loony tunes girlfriend?" 

His only response was that same glazed expression. Just as well, he was babbling and it wouldn't do his reputation much good to be caught at it. Then again, really, who cared? 

Rather than stand he just crab-crawled to Anderson who was lying half in, half out of the room over the remnants of the door he had been thrown through. His back should have been broken, but already the other man was starting to sit up. Well, at least there were now handy sized bits of wood just lying around. Correction, starting to sit up while breathing heavily. He reached forward and took the unresisting Agent's wrist, feeling the firm pulse just below the seemingly fragile surface. 

Sitting up appeared to be the extent of Anderson's willingness to move. His expression mirrored Merchant's, the retreat into numbness for just a little while. Well, he had been mostly dead all night, he pretty much deserved some cut out time. 

As he dragged Anderson to the centre where Merchant still lay, he heard at last the precious sound of sirens. He couldn't see the dawn, but it was there. He knew it was there. 

With a little sigh, Woodman lay back on the rubble and closed his eyes ... just for a little while. 

  
Isaac reserved his pleasure at not being shot, deciding not to waste perfectly good emotion that could be used in abject terror for the fire that was about to consume him. He wondered if it would be quick. 

Then he wondered why he was moving at speed into the corridor, definitely not under his own power. The arms that held him were cool, soft. His girl. Well ... of his chosen ways to die, being killed by her was definitely at the top of his list. 

The arms released him, unceremoniously dropping him to the chill of the rough carpeting. Tentatively he stood, the rush of heat on his back making his skin crawl even a corridor away from the inferno. She was before him, looking up with that smile. 

"They're all dead Isaac ... they went poof just like they were meant to. Good little boys. But the game's all boring now, I'm tired. Take me home?" 

He watched her, not believing for a moment she had any intent on not killing him at all. She just changed her play. That was his girl. God she was beautiful. 

Sweeping her into his arms he began to move towards the sound banging, fire crews trying to enter through doors just as determined not to let them. From the sound of it they had axes ... and blood. There was a good bet their bodies were just overflowing with it. Well, maybe not overflowing _yet_. 

The Agents thought they were dead. The Pack thought they were dead. Death ... was good. 

Knowing she couldn't hear him now, he spoke anyway as the first fireman nearly fell through the door onto him, neck conveniently level. 

"Lusi? How's America sound ..." 

He saved the hat. And he saved the head in it. She'd like it when she woke up ... and he was sweet like that. 

_I've still got your face  
Painted on my heart  
Scrawled upon my soul  
Etched upon my memory baby  
I've got your kiss  
Still burning on my lips_  


=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= 

**Songs**: Lyrics from Deadspeak and The Cult "Painted On My Heart"  
**Feedback**: Good or bad, 's all groovy :)   
**Archive**: Can't imagine anyone wanting to, but sure if you just lemme now where it's going.  
**Disclaimer**: White Wolf's world. Sue me not.  
**A/N**: For anyone interested, Lusi was Malkavian Antitribu (natch), Isaac was a Pander. Thank you to everyone that's reviewed! This one is all done. Don't think there's be another. (Stop cheering ... :P) 


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